Best Culmination of a Year-Long Experiment in Narcissism

When celebrating an anniversary of any sort, one is often inclined to begin with a statement like "It's hard to believe that (x-amount of time) has passed since (y-event)." But I'm not going to start this post by saying "It's hard to believe that a year has passed since my first briggie.blogspot post" because I don't find it hard to believe that a year has passed since my first post. I mean, I have written hundreds and hundreds of posts since them, a number of posts that would have been quite difficult to write in under a year. But anyway, so now this blog (named "Steady Mobbin'", although not even I call it that [the name comes from a 'favorite' Ice Cube song from High School. I think I picked the name to impress my friend Lucas who might not even know that this blog exists.]) is a year old, and I hope that "culmination" doesn't mean "End." because I have no intention on stopping the blogging that has proven to be an excellent outlet for the semi-creative impulses of a law student (and, during the summers, a law-intern) and I probably wouldn't even go out to concerts and things nearly as much if I wasn't thinking that maybe the activity might spawn a decent post.

And now, that picture up there? It was designed months ago by the brilliant Cindy Ferguson as the design for t-shirts that I wanted to give all my friends for Christmas. Clearly, those t-shirts were never made. And then I wanted to make the t-shirts for my friends for my birthday, and that's when I found out exactly how much something like that would cost (originally it was my plan to actually give the shirts to everyone, that means I would have been taking care of the cost with my Christmas Money from Grandma.) So now I submit this t-shirt design to you along with a plan: in "honor" of the first anniversary of briggie.blogspot.com, I ask you: Would you want a t-shirt that says "Briggie is My Homeboy" on it? Would you pay the cost of having your t-shirt made (Something between 7 and 10 bucks)? If I get at least 36 "yes" responses, the Briggie is My Homeboy shirt shall become a reality. If not, it shall remain as nothing more than another example of Cindy's design genius and my willingness to promote myself, should people be willing to pay.

Oh yeah, if you want the shirt, just shoot me an email or leave a comment or something. If there are enough responses I'll start asking about sizes and everything ($$$), but that's later. Also, don't be shy and don't worry that maybe you and I aren't homeboys enough for you to get a shirt, because we are.

Best Discovered/Remembered Files

A combination of wanting to post but not having anything to post and finding these files that somehow I hadn't noticed earlier has lead me to post three more Faint pictures. More of the same, more or less.







And did you know there was a very short video of Mitch dancing at the concert during "Posed to Death"? You may want to turn up the brightness on your computer as high as you can to see her better. Click. I told you it was short.

Who knows what adventures Memorial Day will hold? Who knows what content ideas it might provide?

Best Bad News That Will Make a Good Post Later

UPDATE!! I have a new phone now with the same number as before. Also, I hate my new phone. Also, if I ever had your number before, I don't have it now.

Hey, if you're someone who is in the habit of calling me on the phone, please be advised that my cell phone was stolen tonight at a McDonalds in Harlem. By the end of the weekend the chain of events that lead me to be at that particular McDonalds, the stealing of the phone, and the events that followed will be funny enough to me to merit being posted, but for now, I'm mostly a little mad. Ok, ok, things are already starting to seem funny to me, today since 3:30 PM was just ridiculous. Anyway, I hope to get a new phone tomorrow, until then, I can only be communicated with through a variety of internet ways. Also, if you got any really mean text messages from me after 6:45 PM today, that wasn't me, it was the guy that stole the phone. But if you got any really mean text messages from me before 6:45 PM then, yeah, that was me.

Best Late Night Craving

I had a really healthy workday yesterday, I was at the office righting wrongs until 7:30 and I was so hungry when I left. Sometimes I get too hungry to have any idea as to what I want to eat, but this time I knew exactly what I needed, I needed Taco Bell. That's all there was to it.

I've got a good tradition of having pictures of Mike and I eating Mexican fast-food together (search for those posts yourself, I'm too full of tacos right now to do it myself), so why stop now, right?



I really wanted to order something I don't usually have, so I got the Mexican Pizza along with my tacos. It isn't nearly as wild as the pizzas I had in Mexico (the country where hot dogs are as legitimate a meat as beef and chicken for cooking purposes) but it switched things up and kept the meal exciting. While I didn't exactly spend $2,000 , I did get a lot to eat (especially after I helped Mike finish his nachos) and regreted it for the rest of the night. Ah, sweet sweet Taco Bell regret.

Best Return to New York

Saturday morning I had to rush back to New York from Chicago for all sorts of reasons, one of which was that Mitch Clark (who you may remember me meeting in Utah over spring break and going to Sizzler with while I was there) was in town for the weekend and I wanted to maximize my Mitch-Exposure. The Fursts were throwing Mitch a pancake lunch party, so as soon as I got in I headed up to that.

Shortly after meeting Mitch in March I decided I wanted to write her a song, a song called "Mitch Clark is Coming to My House", an alternate-version of the LCD Soundsystem song "Daft Punk is Playing at My House." I spent a month and a half thinking about writing the song and two airplane flights writing the song and a lot of time imagining myself singing the song. Since I couldn't stop telling Mitch that I had a surprise for her and much of the party was structured around the notion of the song, it was a sure thing that I'd be performing it. It was probably the first time I had "sung" by myself in front of people since 8th grade.

Anyway, the song began with me imagining I was getting a call from my doorman telling me that Mitch Clark was coming to my house, my house.



It's funny how, even though you think you might know a whole made up song, you wind up reading the whole thing.



But soon I really got into it . . .



And even improvised a "cowbell" solo.



Some of my audience seemed only marginally entertained (probably cuz they didn't know the original song.)



While others were slightly more entertained (particularly Jo and Dirk, also visiting the NYC from the SLC).



But all that matters is that I got tears of joy from the Guest of Honor.



And even incorporated a big finish into my finish.



Later Ashley and Paul performed their old maraca routine, which, you know, is pretty good as she's a Latina American Idol and all.



After most of the pancake eaters had left Amber prepared Morgan for a photoshoot with Mitch.



We went out to Broadway for the shoot.



Garrett took some pictures of the picture-taking too, along with the guy in the white shirt there behind him. He was just some guy that crossed the street, took a picture, and walked off. I figured that if he got to take a picture of my friends, I got to try to take a picture of him



Someday soon (November, I think) you might see this picture (or one a lot like it) somewhere in a Modern Bride article about napkin folds . . . wait, I mean, a picture nothing like this one, a picture that's just of Mitch and Morgan, pretending to be engaged.



And this is everyone. Yes, I gave Morgan my shirt to match Mitch. Yes, I happened to have a spare shirt in my bag.



Much later we all went to see the Faint at Webster hall. Here's Jeff, Craig, and Jenna. Kristin was there too, but maybe she was too little to show up in this photo? I don't know.



Here's Jo and Dirk and a blurry Mitch.



It was my second time seeing the Faint. They're consistently awesome. I stand by my previous evaluation of the band, when you see them live, you wouldn't know that they weren't the world's biggest rock band (let alone a band that 9 out of 10 Americans have never even heard of).



Just look at how hard they're rocking!



Maybe this is my best concert photo ever?



More rockin'



And check out the constructivist-looking projections going on back there.



Full disclosure: the Faint were sort of opening for Bright Eyes. But who cares about Bright Eyes? (I mean, who cares about Bright Eyes that isn't crying too hard right now to be reading Steady Mobbin'?)



We lasted around three songs before we had had enough of his feelings and headed for other adventures and we probably wouldn't have lasted so long if Nick Zinner of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs wasn't playing guitar for Mr. Sensitive.

Best New Weekly Feature Week Five: The Return

My diligent commentary on the Firearm had to go dormant the last few weeks because of finals and travels and my commitment to providing you with nothing but my best recycled writings--especially when one considers the great importance of Issue Eight of the First Volume of the Firearm.

You see, if The Firearm really was a commentary on BYU-Provo culture in 2001, then something had been conspicuously absent from the first seven issues: there wasn't a single Abercrombie and Fitch joke. Having not lived in Provo for three years now (yes!), I don't know what the cool kids are wearing, but back in 2001-2002 (and a good many years before those years) Abercrombie was THE thing to be wearing to a point of utter ridiculousness. In fact, joking about Abercrombie at BYU wasn't all that much more comedically advanced than joking about the lake of caffeine-infused softdrinks at the Cougar Eat. So, Andrew and I decided that if we were going to stick it to Abercrombie, the Abercrombie lifestyle, and the now-defunct A&F Quarterly Magazine, we were going to have to go all-out and in-depth. So we bit our tongues for seven issues and then got to work on Issue 8, the all Abercrombie edition of the Firearm.

Now, Andrew has already sent me his take on the issue, which I have pasted below my own words a little later on here, and I think he's done a perfectly decent (okay, a "really good") job at summing up the whole issue and I'll exploit this as an opportunity for me to not have to say so much about the issue, especially since the issue takes such great care to explain itself. You know what? Forget it. I'm not saying anything else about the issue, Andrew did too good of a job summing it up. I mean, I do want to say that the job interview really happened and that I really tape-recorded it and that I'd do anything to find that tape AND that as the interview went on, I started to really want that job at Abercrombie.

This is what my ex-Editor-in-Chief had to say about Issue 8 (I think it's clear which one of us has been in Law School for two years and which one of us has returned to studying English and actually reading):

The Firearm, Volume One, Issue Eight

Our first themed issue. The Firearm’s body of work until this point had been directed entirely by the whim of two boys (yes, Brigham, were we not?) who wrote rather different things. Thankfully, it was not altogether uncomplementary. Some shrewd reader (I prayed, nightly, for one) might have realized our eclecticism did not come from the strict discipline of an expansive mind but, for my part, from the lack of it. (I always chose my subjects and wrote them in a distinct state of franticness. Brigham, on the other hand, was always several steps ahead. Where he still is.)

Our less articulate readers (I hope I will be forgiven for that) would, had they bothered, called us “random.” Now if you’ll allow me one story: While dining amid the frenzy of an uncountably large group date (I was trying, with great bewilderment, to keep up with everything), the young lady to whom I was fatefully attached stopped everything and told me she knew what I was. I was, she said, “random.” I did not immediately respond. I was speechless, but only by design, since I felt very much like bleating out the names of some obscure Northwestern conifers, then leading everyone in a round of “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” (which would not in reality have been all that inappropriate considering her hobby, but then again how often chance gives us exactly what we expect) and finally pinching her behind with a snicker to show her what randomness sounds and feels like. I easily resisted, since it is not my style to shock. She was, by the way, a state [AZ] champion softball pitcher, which one could derive from the cut of her jib, so to speak; also an unabashed Steven R. Covey admirer. She tried with apparent desperation to help me inject my life with some direction (a placebo, in my opinion) and was not, I sit here knowing, successful.

But this eighth issue, getting back to the subject at hand, had theme (it’s okay—I intentionally dropped the definite article for punch). It did not, however, have purpose, but this suited us, just as it presently does. So we set our impotent sights on Abercrombie and Fitch. Why? Because, to continue the metaphor, it was a target we could not fail to hit. It was at that time an institution of considerable influence in the community (if I am not mistaken, the previous year “Abercrombie” received nearly 3 percent of the Provo mayoral race and was a bit of a scandal). Also, as I suggested in my “From the Editor”, there was something representatively animal (or just American?) about A&F that we, I thought, might all recognize. I was not serious about that, but I suppose it could be true.

Our “Investigative Report”—written by Brigham with some Andrew touches—was one of our only pieces that may have had some journalistic characteristics. We went “undercover” to an interview at Abercrombie and Fitch and played the part of interested “brand reps,” as they were called. Our interaction at the group interview was recorded on the sly, which was a bit of illegal activity on our part. That was, I remember thinking, very journalistic of us, which shows how much I know about journalism. Even still, the experience happened as the article says it did; I don’t know that we embellished any part of it besides that which is acceptably embellished.

In preparing for the interview, I was—and I think this is the first time I have admitted this—exceptionally nervous. I am, I think, at first quite easily caught in the influence of things like Abercrombie and Fitch because they are—only at first glance, it turns out—so bold and audacious. The loud, angry music; the hard-faced, scowling employees; the ripped and frayed clothing, as if torn in rage; all this fed my natural tendency to feel people were right because they were angry. I was prepared, of course, to do and say what I had to to get a good article, but I was simultaneously unsettled by the prospect of exposing so notorious an enemy.

That is, until the interview began. Our interviewer was a nice, courteous young lady, probably from Layton or Bountiful, who seemed to understand—if only on an instinctual level—the ridiculousness of her task. Her manner reminded me of the children of a family I met earlier that year in Cle Elum, WA who had made a small fortune selling magnets for medicinal purposes to their neighbors. It is difficult, when on such an errand, to look your fellow in the eye.

The interview with Mr. Fitch was a sort of backward homage to that great innovator. So little is known about the man, his life and work. He lived and died in relative obscurity, whereas his partner Mr. Abercrombie was a playboy, a fast-living, fate-favored Odysseus, bound unstoppably for splendor. I have a feeling—I do not know for sure (there has been a great cover-up)—that while Abercrombie was off rabble-rousing, Fitch was home (they rented an apartment together during college) sewing, presumably without a thimble. That we may nevermore, nevermore forget the ones upon whose shoulders we stand. Amen.

Many of you know Mike Lemmon. For those of you who don’t know him, he still hardly needs an introduction. Word on the street is, or should I say rumor has it, that he “has it all.” He wrote his article from Japan, which is something neither Brigham nor I managed to do.

The “Abercrombie Joke Breakdown” is a hefty slice of metacognative pie, pun intended.

One bit of Firearm trivia: This issue gave The Firearm some sharpening up, for a little while anyway. It birthed our short-lived logo “F&A Newspapers”, which we placed in the upper left corner. “F&A” is derived from breaking the word “firearm”, which we all know is a compound word, into its etymological parts. That derivation is not, in my opinion, a perfect fit, as it is not hugely intuitive, it does not resonate in the gut. The “Newpapers” part of the logo is, as our readers know, the loosest fit of all.

I know, I know. Lots of words, no pictures. But checking out Issue 8 is really worth your while.

Best Photos I've Ever Taken

On Friday night we went to my distant-cousin Doren's wedding reception. It was a pretty nice reception, and while I hardly took any pictures, the pictures that I took were great, if I may say so myself.

Owen's expression in this photo just kills me.



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Out in the hall there was a backdrop that the wedding photographers must have been using earlier.



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I love this picture. It's probably the best picture of me and my Mom since I was in kindergarten.



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Best Downtown Trip

On my last day in Chicago I went downtown to check on everything and visited Chicago's new "Millenium Park" (which opened in 2004) for the first time ever.

Chicago now has it's own Frank Gehry situation going on with this bridge and bandshell.



































The park's giant shiny bean (also known as "the reason I wanted to go to the park in the first place") was all covered up for some reason, like to ruin my trip, I think.



This fountain didn't look interesting enough to make me want to walk over and check it out.



But these fountains were another story altogether . . .